


Thereafter...

by Ignobilis



Series: Days of Eternity [1]
Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3541865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignobilis/pseuds/Ignobilis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic begins after the movie ends. Balem falls from a metal platform in his refinary and is presumed dead. But did he die? If he did not die, how did he manage to survive? - TAKING BREAK NOW COS NEED TO WRITE OTHER STUFF... WORK RELATED STUFF.....:P</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death and Waking Up Again

**Author's Note:**

> “In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves.” – “Wintergirls” Laurie Halse Anderson
> 
> Author’s Note:  
> The format of the story of “Days of Eternity” has changed to make for easier reading. I have moved all the back history of Balem Abrasax into another fic.  
> I really like it when things make sense in a story. It isn’t enough for me to read something that has so many gaps I am wondering where things are going. I have questions to answer about the Jupiter Ascending universe, and I hope I can answer them as I go along.  
> Pls refer to the other fics in this “Days of Eternity” series for explanations as to what certain things are.
> 
> Easy reminders:  
> 1\. The known universe is organised into an interstellar commonwealth.  
> 2\. Genetics is everything in this universe.  
> 3\. All beings in the interstellar commonwealth subscribe to a religion/spiritual path called “The Cosmic Way”, which defines beliefs on genetics, reincarnation, ethics… etc etc.
> 
> Some portions of this fic might at times be changed or re-edited.... for purposes of coherence, when I spot something out of place.. IF there is a major re-edit... I will add the words EDIT - to denote section edited.

                In spite of how it appeared, Balem Abrasax did not die in his epic fall from the steel walkway in his final confrontation with Jupiter Jones. As he fell downwards in a spiral of smoke and fire in the lavender-orange light of the planet, a horrible thought of his body being smashed to bits like how a watermelon is smashed when it is dropped from a height flashed across his mind. He felt the rush of air and pressure in his ears as he whizzed downwards into the maelstrom. He had no idea of the trajectory of his fall. He only saw the bright trail formed by legionnaire boots as Mr Wise zipped across the emptiness of the space between the structures of his refinery.

                He felt he might fall for a long time, but soon enough he felt the back of his head smacking hard against something metallic. Glancing at his fingers a final time, he was amazed that his bones had withstood the super-strong gravitational force of the planet Jupiter. No doubt he was now in bits, far below in the bowels of his refinery.

                The pain he felt was tremendous, he did not understand how he managed to stay conscious throughout it all. His heart did not stop in mid fall, as he had expected, so now he felt his bones shatter and saw a rib sticking out of his broken chest.

                Then he saw nothing, just darkness. Balem Abrasax let out his breath and proceeded to give up his ghost. It was a feeling almost akin to relief and then he felt peace.

                In the darkness behind his lids, he saw images of his life, from when he was born in a birthing facility, through to important moments in his life, to when he finally strangled Seraphi in her residence. He remembered how old she looked. She was tired of life, tired of everything, and looking for meaning in her existence.

                She was never really made for eternity. She understood much, she knew much about the human body and how it could be preserved against the ravages of time, but not truly, how to preserve her psyche and mind against the onslaught of so many years, especially years all alone. In the end, time ate her up.

                Finally, when the images stopped and he floated in a sea of darkness, Balem saw a bright flash of light. He felt as if he was floating towards it. It was warm and inviting. Some distant part of his mind told him that that bright light was likely the final flash of his neural receptors firing off for the last time before he dropped into oblivion forever. Ancient humans, some of them at least, believed the light to be a gateway to some sort of afterlife. Whether that was true or not, Balem did not know, the path of the Cosmic Mind did not provide those answers. Only the reassurance that he would again recur should the universe require his presence.

                Perhaps all that awaited the dead was the constant peace and silence of oblivion until they again became conscious, but in another life, in other flesh.

                Never one to fear darkness, shadow and wordless silence, Balem allowed his consciousness to take him where it would most naturally go. He half expected to sink into the deep night of no being, but instead, he floated quickly into the light, where he experienced a great sense of peace.

                He existed in a world of light and colour and no mind. He was not conscious at all, not even dreaming. It was as if he was suspended in a space where he merely was and had no name, goals or even thoughts. Here was a world without names, forms or time. A constant eternal now that was all light and colour and a blissful not-knowing.

                What was his name? He did not know and did not care.

                _Balem_

                That was the first word that came to him. The name caused a form to take shape in the wash of colour and light, and then this form became solid, and took on the attributes of weight and mass and sank like a rock through the layers of colour and light. As he sank, Balem noticed that his surroundings grew darker and heavier, until he “landed.”

                He was floating on an anti-grav bed similar to that found in many high-end medical facilities. The only lights that were in his darkened room were the lights of the monitors. It reminded him a bit of his earliest days as a baby in a birthing facility where machines with silvery appendages poked and prodded him. He was completely bare except for a light sheet of some fine fabric that covered his lower body. He tried wriggling his toes and was relieved to find that he could still do it on his left foot.  He could not feel his right foot at all. However, he was in considerable pain. He noticed that the part of his torso where his rib stuck out had undergone some form of surgery. He was pleased that that the surgeon did a fine job, but he also noted that his ribcage had collapsed and was crushed.

                It was at that point he noticed that he was breathing with the aid of a machine. A breathing mask covered his nose and mouth. He could not speak or make a sound since there was a breathing tube down his mouth. He tried to get it off, but could not move his hands. He tried turning to see his arm and hands, but could not do so.

                Eventually, after a very long spell, he noticed a shadow moving at the corner of the room. This shadow grew larger as it approached him. Soon, Chicanery’s face came into view.

                “Thank the Mind,” Chicanery whispered. “I really do not want to have to find another employer and master.”

                Balem stared at him, willing that the splice could read his mind.

                “I’m so sorry sir,” he said quietly. “There really wasn’t anyone else to call…”


	2. Saved?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes the best and worst times of your life can coincide. It is a talent of the soul to discover the joy in pain—-thinking of moments you long for, and knowing you’ll never have them again. The beautiful ghosts of our past haunt us, and yet we still can’t decide if the pain they caused us outweighs the tender moments when they touched our soul…” - Shannon L. Alder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms:  
> 1\. Medicina (pl. medicinae) – the title equivalent of “medical practitioner” on Earth. I somehow did not think that the title of “doctor” would work in this context. It implies so many things that are not-applicable to the space docs. For one thing, the space docs do not have any form of Hippocratic Oath.’  
> 2\. “The Cosmic Way” is a religious-spiritual system that is popular among humans and other beings in the interstellar commonwealth. More details about this can be found in the rewritten “backstory” fic in this series.
> 
> That’s all I can think of for the moment. Rest of the terminology either Inbox me or read it from the Jupiter Ascending Wiki. I do not really want to do a "easy reference" as the other fic is currently in process of rewriting and it might cause the "spoiler effect".

                By the second day of his awakening, Balem found out about the extent of the damage he had taken. A medicina came in and did an examination. He did not understand a lot of what the man was saying, but he knew that he suffered crushing damage to his right side. He had a crushed lung. He was unable to move his arm on the right side or even feel anything because it was smashed into a flattened pulp. He could tell that there was no way at all to save that right arm. Amazingly his fingers of that side had survived the fall and were more or less intact.

                He realised after awhile that the medicina was not talking to him at all, but to a man who was standing some distance away from his bed. He could see nothing of this stranger’s appearance, being not able to turn his head fully. However, this unknown personage’s voice was a strong baritone and seemed rather familiar to him.  

                He rolled his eyes around to see if he could find something, some object or thing that might reveal to him the identity of his erstwhile rescuer. Chicanery was sitting in a chair at a corner, looking as if he had not slept in days. When the medicina moved to remove the sheet covering his lower extremities, he saw the rat splice get up and reached out with a hand to stop the medicina.

                After that he saw Chicanery’s mouth moving to whisper something and the medicina reached out to a place just beyond his head. He heard the soft hissing of gas and then he blacked out.

                Balem was not sure how long he remained unconscious, however, when he awoke, he saw Chicanery standing over him on his left side.

                “It’s all right,” the rat splice said to him rather kindly. “They say that everything can be fixed. You will be… as you were… before… … more or less…”

                Balem wriggled the fingers of his left side. He was relieved when he felt the movement of his fingers.  

                “Well, sir,” Chicanery continued, “Your left side has not been badly hurt. You have full functionality of your left arm and leg. Also, despite initial assessments, your brain it appears has survived the fall without any real injury…. That is a true blessing, thank the Mind! That is a very good thing, the medicina’s prognosis of your recovery is good… in that respect.”

                Balem tried to speak, but found that he could make no sound. He reached out with his fingers and managed to grab onto a bit of the fabric of the rat splice’s clothes. He pulled hard and stared at Mr. Night, hoping that the creature could understand his desire.   

                The rat splice leaned over, almost as if to listen to his whisper.  

                “Oh sir,” he spluttered, “That would not be a good idea. You are absolutely well taken care of here… everything will be back to normal in about six months… You have nothing to worry about… ”

                Balem let out a cry of despair. He found to his relief that he could still make noises with his throat. He tugged hard with whatever strength he had in his left hand.

                The rat splice swallowed hard, “Sir, do you wish to know the extent of the damage you have taken?”    

                Balem blinked hard, once. Tears were flowing from his eyes. He tugged Chicanery’s suit hard hoping the man could understand him.

                Chicanery looked horribly reluctant, but he looked to a space somewhere behind the bed. Then, Balem found himself being inclined upwards so that he could look at his body. He already knew that his right side was a mangled mess, so he hardly blinked when he saw the bruised, bloody tissue and collapsed torso. Chicanery moved over to place his hands on the sheet that covered the lower half of his body. The rat splice seemed to be looking at him, no, at a space behind him for a command.  

                “Sir,” he said softly. “No matter what happens, no matter what you see… everything will be all right…. You’ll see, they are very good here. … the science is very advanced…”

                He pulled off the sheet and Balem nearly screamed.

                His left leg was horribly bruised, blue and almost black, but it was a whole leg. He could still wriggle his pink toes. His right leg however, if it could be called a leg, was encased in some kind of container where some fluid or serum was sustaining whatever was left of it. As far as he could tell, his toes were completely crushed, and his right shin below the knee was nothing but the bone which he could see had sustained horrible fracturing. He also noticed that a huge chunk was missing from his thigh area. The leg, like the arm was unsalvageable.

                However, a lifetime of seeing humans being sliced up whole only elicited a deep breath from the crippled nobleman. However, as he looked around, he saw himself being reflected through a chrome-covered surface on one of the panels of the anti-grav bed. He realised that his right eye was entirely missing and the skull on his right side was crushed. There was no skin at all on some bits, just a bit of remaining bone.

                Inspite of all of it, he merely shed a tear from his remaining eye. He had seen far worse in his tremendously long lifetime on the bodies of soldiers on wartorn planets.

                “I think its time for you to take a rest,” the rat splice said. “You have nothing to worry about. The medicinae here are confident that you would be able to appear as you were before in six months.”

                He quickly added, “They are testing your surviving Sargorn guard for a genetic match, if they are unable to find a compatible donor, we will travel to the Sargorn homeworld…. Saurian genome has remarkable regrowth properties… you might even get some special traits!”

                Balem cried out horribly. The fingers on his left hand struggled to grab onto something. The rat splice ran around probably to figure out which button it was that activated the anaesthetic gas.

                There was a bit of chaos, then Balem felt a presence move around to his left side. He looked out of his remaining eye as a man walked out of the shadowed part of his room.

                He saw what was an identical physical clone of himself move into the light, the only difference was that this person had fiery red hair, and no freckles. Upon closer inspection, he realized to his relief that the “clone” was not entirely similar to him. However, at a quick glance, a stranger unfamiliar with his personal traits, might mistake this person for Balem Abrasax, with red hair!

                Balem felt himself twitch, with primal fear. He really had no idea why he did that.

                This "stranger" looked at him for awhile, then said, “Son, genetic manipulation is quite sophisticated and has advanced significantly since the time of your birthing, I give you my full assurance that you will not grow a tail or scales…”

                Balem frowned deeply, and blinked at him, hard. He shuddered internally when the man said "son."

                “You do not want the Saurian genome,” he said after awhile. Balem blinked hard in response.

                The rat splice came over after the awful screaming had stopped. He said to the stranger, “My lord, my master has always been a faithful adherent of the Cosmic Way… He cannot accept any form of DNA foreign to his being. We have a full record of his original DNA on board the Hyperion, his personal ship, for medical purposes… cannot the required replacement parts be cloned from that?”

                “Growing the replacements without Saurian genome, will take quite a long time, perhaps years. Also it will have to undergo some aging and compatibility processing to make it 100% compatible with your physiology as it is now…. You have undergone RegenX renewal many times now, I presume?” the stranger asked.

                “My Lord Balem has been alive for about 80 millieniums,” Chicanery replied.

                “In that case,” the stranger replied. “Sir, The best option I can offer you is to install temporary cybernetic prosthetics, until your leg, arm and eye can be regrown using only your personal DNA. Your face can also be restored once the clone has been grown and processed, but I am afraid that you will still require cybernetic supports under your skin since your original skull has been crushed, to help maintain your natural appearance…. If you decide to accept Saurian genome, the bone itself can be grown on your person while you heal. What is your decision?”

                 “Blink one for yes, twice for no,” Chicanery offered a solution to answering questions.

                 “You have a few days to think about it,” the stranger replied.

                The rat splice bowed, “I thank you on behalf of my master for your kindness, your majesty.”

                A million questions ran through Balem’s mind at that moment. The man was very familiar. He was sure he had seen the stranger before, perhaps a few thousand years ago. He knew from the terms of address used by Mr. Night, that this stranger was at a level on par with his family. There were only a few families that were at the same level as the Abrasaxes, and based on his knowledge, only one family had the stranger’s fiery red hair. His own blood chilled to ice as he remembered Marcus Astra, his long-time foe and leader of the “Ethical Harvest” movement that nearly destroyed Abrasax Industries some 14 000 years ago, the same year Kalique was birthed. He was quite sure the stranger was not Marcus since Marcus had obvious freckles that he never bothered to conceal and he was intimately familiar with the tall, arrogant nobleman, as they had a very public argument on Orous in recent years, and he had slapped Marcus on the face. It was a huge Entitled faux pas, one which he had tried to bury for years. The huge fine he had to pay caused a noticeable dent in his personal fortune.

                He guessed that he was likely on an Astra medical frigate, since the family was a noted military contractor and a big player the pharmaceutical industry. He had no idea who the stranger was.


	3. The Amazing Mr. Chicanery Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The regrets of yesterday and the fear of tomorrow can kill you.” - Liza Minelli

                Chicanery Night was the best legal graduate of his batch some 70 odd millenia ago. Like all rat splices he was taught to be always prepared for everything. To plan ahead and take precautions. To be silent, to know many secrets and to only speak when absolutely necessary to serve the best interest of his employer. Unlike many other splice types, rat splices were often not indentured servants. They were free to work for and find different employers. Most rat splices said it was because the rat was the first creature whose genome was spliced into humans.

                Rats and humans always had a working symbiosis, that was what he was taught.  A rat who was smart picked a powerful employer and then worked loyally for this person and would be provided with food, shelter, comforts and status. When Seraphi Abrasax came to the rat splice academy to pick a new assistant for her Heir so long ago, he had to fight off hundreds of contenders to secure his place at the side of Balem Abrasax.

                Over the years, he became privy to many Abrasax family secrets, secrets unknown even to his employer. At times, a rat had to keep those secrets even from the family of his employer, for their own good, and his own. If they prospered, so did he. He was keenly aware of that.

                Before she passed, Seraphi made an appointment with him. She spent the better part of half a day briefing him on all the secrets and details that pertained to the noble house of Abrasax. He only left her to go to the surveillance room and turn off all surveillance before the arrival of his master. He did so on his own initiative. His logic and instinct told him that nothing good could come from that final meeting between Balem and Seraphi. However, his own sense of paranoia made him creep back silently to the rooftop garden where they met and in the dense bushes, he hid and used a handheld recording device to record down the final moments of Seraphi Abrasax and every word she spoke, down to the last letter.

                He kept that recording securely on his person in a specially hidden skin pouch on his body. He made sure it was in a casing that rendered the data absolutely secure, that was shock proof, completely impervious to electromagnetic pulses, waterproof and secure even if he or it were exposed to the cold depths of space.

                When his employer told him to go to Earth to grab the family of Jupiter Jones and send her a message, he immediately went over to the Hyperion, Balem’s personal ship and made a duplicate of all information stored in its databases and kept it in a data chip, similarly encased in a protective outer shell, on his person. Instinct, told him that this entire venture might end in disaster.

                Naturally, Chicanery was right. He was seldom wrong. He felt that humans needed the rat at points in time to guide them onto better courses of action. He had initially warned his employer to do nothing. To proceed with the Harvest of Earth and not to intervene with the actions of his siblings. And should this Jupiter later come over demanding why he had Harvested the Earth, he would say only that he was not informed of her recurrence as the incarnation of his mother and that he had harvested the Earth as she herself had scheduled for him to do so very long ago.

                Even after Jupiter Jones escaped from his brother, Chicanery counselled against taking action and intervening. Balem could simply wait it out. He was immortal and she was not, and had no access to ReGenX unless she approached either Titus or Kalique, which she was unlikely to do. The less that this recurrence knew of him, the better. Then he could Harvest at leisure once she was dead of natural causes.

                However he had decided to intervene because of his obsession. Chicanery sometimes wondered if he should have done something to prevent his employer from ever continuing his insane pursuit of the recurrence of his lost love – which was, NOT his mother. Despite what that awful tabloid, the “Interstellar Enquirer” frequently speculated. Chicanery had sometimes advised him, as a bit of friendly assistance to find another woman he could fixate his interest on. He remembered once accepting an RSVP to a small Entitled shindig where the daughters of many fine Entitled families were in attendance. Sadly, Balem stood around the whole night and looked over the heads of so many eligible women. Chicanery tried to steer the petite, brown-haired ladies with nice bosoms towards his employer, but Balem hardly noticed them.

                Chicanery had more than once seriously considered arranging to have his employer's mind wiped, not of everything, but of that whole affair with the Lady Sammon. However, he did not ever go through with it because he was uncertain how many times a human could undergo a mind wipe before that mind was destroyed. Those were times where he repeatedly cursed Seraphi under his breath.

                He remembered it clearly. He had managed to persuade Balem to out-wait Seraphi’s most recent recurrence. Balem could be patient and 70 something years of human life was a span of time he could afford to kill, while off on a holiday in one of his many idyllic residences. However, the keepers alerted his employer to the presence of another recurrence, in New York City of all places! The recurrence of Maarit Sammon, his employer’s lost love and constant obsession.

                Balem had to act. He could not, he would not have both women on the same planet, much less the same city. Seraphi had in her 90 millennia lifespan, killed the Lady Sammon more than once. She killed the original herself, and then a few of the subsequent recurrences.

                Now Balem had to have possession of the Earth, for the sake of Maarit.

                Because of his obsession with detail, Chicanery had kept records of all the awful murders. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he recalled all the secrets he collected over the years.

                When he felt the first rumble from the refinery’s depths, he knew that something was wrong. He quickly sent a message to his employer through his implant, but Balem somehow refused to pick up after being pinged countless times. Having little choice of action, the rat splice rushed to the Hyperion and had its captain launch the ship. Then he sent out small scouting vessels to seek out his employer and bear Balem to safety. The scouts did not find him until that dire moment when their cameras picked up an image of him falling into the depths of the refinery.

                Chicanery fainted when he saw the recording. However, the captain of the Hyperion had to take the ship out into space. The Hyperion was not equipped to withstand the violent storms of Jupiter.

                When he awoke in a bunk somewhere on the ship, Chicanery wept at the death of his employer. All his effort, wasted. Images of Maledictes being declared the most preeminent rat splice of the Abrasax family and in the interstellar commonwealth constantly haunted his dreams. He had in the two days after Balem’s fall, considered resigning his post and transferring his allegiance to Jupiter Jones. However, instinct told him that the recurrence was not half as promising as the original Seraphi Abrasax. In Chicanery’s own viewpoint, DNA only mattered to a certain point, but the rest of what made Seraphi a formidable monarch and what made Balem - Balem, was their unique life experience. He highly doubted that recurrences could actually remember the details of their life, much less possess the skills of the original. Both Balem and Seraphi were born, raised and bred to be rulers. Seraphi herself had told Chicanery that she had always known from the start that Balem was the only appropriate heir to her vast interstellar dynasty, there was no other realistic choice.

                Amazingly, as the rat splice awoke on the second day after Balem’s apparent death, his implant started pinging. He checked his shive and realized that Balem’s implant, the one that the Sargorns had insisted that he install, was still transmitting and that it indicated that his employer was very much alive.        

                Chicanery went to the captain with the information, but was told that the Hyperion could not reenter the violent atmosphere of Jupiter. Chicanery cursed silently, he really should have gotten his employer to build the refinery on Mars.

                Finally, he sent a message to the only person in the entire universe who would rescue his employer. The only person in fact, that Balem could trust. It took a few days, a few nerve wrecking days where Chicanery constantly monitored the pinging from his employer’s implant, before a frigate jumped through a wormhole into the orbit of Jupiter.

               Seraphi had informed Chicanery the truth of everything concerning this particular personage, she had also warned him NEVER to tell Balem what he knew and never to contact this individual. It would be the end of Abrasax Industries, she said.  
  
                _Well, damn Seraphi..._ he thought nastily.    

                Balem had no friends, only enemies and sometimes, an enemy with the right profile could prove more reliable than one’s own blood brother or sister.


	4. Inconsistency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t handle the truth!” – Col. Nathan R. Jessep “A Few Good Men”(1992)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:  
> I don’t know, this fic is turning out to be the biggest SOAP OPERA I have ever written. I hardly ever do soaps… but… then again I tell myself that both Star Wars and Babylon 5 were great Space Soap Operas…. (sorry fans.. I know people will disagree… but its all there… EPIC VILLAINS… octuple plots twists… ALMOST space incest…. At least for one of them….. yarrr)

                Since he was completely incapacitated, Balem had a lot of time to think. He had no idea at all who the “clone” of himself was. Well, it was not really a clone, but a person who had striking similarity to him. Almost familial similarity. He knew that because of a lot of genetic tinkering at the birthing centres it would be inevitable that most Entitled shared a similar look, but this was beyond even the probability of genetic tinkering.

                Unless, of course someone had made a clone of himself, with some mild adjustments. Even this was not improbable. However, full body cloning, with an intact brain, was long outlawed in the commonwealth, this was to ensure the integrity of claimants to Entitled DNA. A recurrence always had to be a 100% _natural_ occurrence. Recurrences happened at the command of the Cosmic Mind, or not at all. This was long encoded into commonwealth law. Moreover, clones were not capable of actually possessing the memories of the original. This had been tested many times in the past by many quaesitors, and the result was always the same. A clone was not the same as a recurrence. Moreover, most clones had a special genetic marker that indicated they were not the original or a recurrence.

This was quite a breakthrough for the legal world, when it was discovered, as there was now a way to ascertain if the claimant was a clone or a natural recurrence. This was a rather strange phenomena. Before the DNA marker was discovered, most claimants had to provide proof of actual reincarnation by coming up with an authentic past life memory that could be verified by a surviving personage who knew him or her well from the era of his or her last existence. The laws around this sort of proof were ambiguous at best. Moreover, not all recurrences had those memories. Balem was aware there was an ancient Orousian explanation for this fact, but it was mostly shrouded in mysticism and occult explanations, which he had read up on about a few thousand years back when he was confronting a recurrence of his lost love.

                Of course, medical cloning of replacement body parts and clones made without anything in the brain cavity continued on for healthcare purposes.

                Balem had decided after a lot of nagging by Chicanery for a definitive answer, that he would stick to using his own DNA to regrow the missing parts, even if it took a thousand years. DNA integrity was terribly important, in light of commonwealth laws. His DNA was proof of his identity and evidence of his right to Entitled-hood. He would not do anything at all to jeopardise either of those things.

                After he had settled that bit with Chicanery and the red-haired man, he turned inward to searching his memory for some clue as to the identity of the red-haired man. He knew that the individual was an Astra, because of the hair, but it was not Marcus Astra, or any of the damnable Astras who supported Marcus’ “Ethical Harvest” movement. In fact, if the red-haired person who had shown up had been Marcus, he would have breathed a huge sigh of relief. Marcus was at least consistent as an opponent. Balem could anticipate his moves and motives. However, there was something about this person, something that triggered off a spate of primal fear and loathing.

                He remembered being on a ship much like the frigate he was on and then being on a balcony that looked out into the stars, surrounded by a thousand twinkling blue lights from bioluminescent flowers.  Something happened, he was sure about it, but what it was, he had no idea. He tried hard through various meditative techniques he had learned through his visits to the Orousian Temple, to recall what he had lived through. However, all attempts to pierce this portion of his past ended in failure.

                He took in another deep breath, as deep as breath as he was able to take, in light of the mechanically assisted respiration and his collapsed lung.

                He closed his one eye and ran through countless scenes of his life. Most of it, he realised, he spent in his throne room of the Jupiter refinery brooding. Otherwise he was down in one of the biospheres he had constructed in the refinery that grew a constant supply of the Nixan weed that was a symbol of his love for Maarit, and a cure for his persistent lung condition. The weed that had the glowing blue flowers. He would sit in the shadowy darkness of the glowing blue stars and brood.

                He searched his memories to the time before Seraphi’s death, to the time when Maarit was alive, and still he had not found the source of the memories. It was almost 70 millienna worth of memories. Finally, he reversed into the time when he was still an actual, original child, a time before Maarit and all the awfulness of the subsequent years, when he was not really quite himself.

                He eventually came to a place, and he thought for the briefest moment, he saw the face of a red-haired man among blue, glowing flowers. He tried his best to maintain that memory, but it was swept away as fast  as it came to him. Eventually, with much concentration, he managed to maintain a clear memory. He saw the man reaching out to him with both hands. Then he saw it, an image of his current self appeared, with hands folded defiantly.      

                He thought for while, then realised what it was. It was a memory block. Someone, most likely himself, had taken steps to have that memory blocked or erased. He was terribly annoyed. He would not have done so unless it was something terrible, possibly so horrible he could not bear it.

                After a few weeks, they were able to take him off the mechanical respirator. He had undergone surgery to reconstruct his collapsed lung with the help of certain cybernetic implants.  Thus he was able to breathe and speak, in a whispery voice. It would take time for him to get used to the new set up.

                During this time, the two persons who visited him constantly and who sat with him while he slept were Mr. Chicanery Night, no doubt to protect his investment in the Abrasax family, and the unknown man with red hair.

                Chicanery gave him constant briefings of things that were going on in the commonwealth. Thus far, no one knew of his whereabouts. However, word had gotten out that the refinery was utterly destroyed and that his whereabouts where in question. His siblings had sent probes to Jupiter’s violent orange eye to scan for traces of his person. Clearly they did not think he survived the destruction of the refinery.

                The Aegis detained Titus for unlawfully detaining Jupiter Jones and forcing her to marry him. The word on the “Interstellar Enquirer,” the commonwealth’s most read tabloid, was that Ms. Jones, the recurrence of Seraphi, was going to sue him for attempting to swindle her out of her inheritance.

                Balem breathed a sigh of relief, for the time being, at least, the Earth was safe.  He had no doubt that Titus would Harvest the planet if he ever got his hands on it. He could hardly care less about the humans on the planet. He wanted to find the recurrence of Maarit and soon, before recurrent Seraphi kills her again.

                 In the interest of becoming functional as soon as possible, Balem was actually quite pliant to the advice given by the medicina. However, he avoided looking at the strange, red-headed medicina as much as possible, often pretending to be asleep whenever the man was in the room. He felt a strong sense of loathing when it came to this individual. And he had no idea why.

                Finally, when he was alone with Chicanery, after viewing a holo recoding of Titus being handcuffed and marched into the courthouse on Orous by the Aegis, he asked the rat splice in a very soft voice.

                “Was I ever mind wiped?”

                The rat splice sighed. Damn Seraphi, the woman was right. When the mistakes of the past come apart, they usually come apart in cascades.

                “Yes.”   

                “Who was it? Who called for the wipe to be done?”

                “It was you, sir.”              

                “I command you to only speak the truth.”           

                “And truly, sir, you called for the wipe some 70 odd millenniums ago.”

                “Why?”                                                                              

                “It was for your own sanity, sir. You were on the verge of a mental breakdown…. Your mother was against it, but you insisted because it really was unbearable.”

                “Do you remember when it happened?”

                “A short while after we first met.”

                “Do you remember what it was about?”              

                “Sir, I only ask that you do nothing now to undo what was done. It will be the undoing of everything that you have worked for. Abrasax Industries will be undone. Let the past lie in the past. No man can live there, or in the future…. Enjoy the fruits and circumstances of today. Make all your strategic moves based on the situation of today. In the past lies much grief, grief that you had long ago decided to bury. Let the dead remain dead.”

                Balem did not reply or respond. He had no idea how to respond to what he now knew.

                “Sir, accept the hospitality and gifts of House Astra… consider it a vacation. Soon, you will have to face your siblings, the Aegis, Ms Jones, everything. Surely your actions in the refinery have consequences.”

                “The man in the red hair, the one who is always here when you are not, who is he?”     

                “Lord Cade Astra III, grand patriarch of the Astra.”

                “’Grand Patriarch’? That would mean he started their entire line… He would have to be at least half a million years in age!”

                “Actually he’s about the same age as you are, give or take a hundred or so years.”

                “A recurrence?”

                “Quite right.”    

                “Have we met? Me and him?”

                “He attended your Recognition as Heir so many millennia ago.”

                Balem struggled to remember the event.

                “Mother knew him.”

                “No doubt she did.”       

                “They are the same age?”           

                “No, I believe he is younger.”    

                It was so many millennia now, and his memory was not the best. Balem struggled to remember that fateful evening.             

                “Were they lovers?”      

                “I am uncertain of that fact.”     

                There was a mystery there, one that Balem was sure had something to do with Seraphi. He could tell that Chicanery was trying hard to skirt the truth.

                He closed his eye and tried to focus on the events of his Recognition. Finally, unable to piece together or make sense of the facts, he said to the rat splice, “Bring me a shive, something that will enable me to view the Orousian administrative records.”

                He needed someone to do a neural scan on him. Even though it bugged him tremendously, he dared not trust anyone on the frigate to do it, since they likely all worked for House Astra.

                Chicanery fetched a tablet and placed it on a table-like platform on his left. He wriggled his fingers experimentally to see if he could operate the controls on the shive tablet.

                “Are you sure you want to do this yourself? Perhaps if you told me what you are looking for, I might be able to help you look for it.”

              "I'll manage," he replied. "I haven't got anything to do and its driving me up the wall to be staring at my limbs as they are being repaired.

              The truth was he had his doubts with regards to Chicanery. The rat splice likely knew everything, but for whatever reason, was unwilling to tell him the entire truth.

               He did a search on all public records pertaining to Cade Astra III, everything from minor fines to lawsuits. He was sure there was some clue in the administrative records that would point him the way to the truth.

                He searched for a day or so and finally found the oddity he was looking for. Some connection between him and his strange man with red hair. It was amazingly in Cade Astra’s criminal records. He was even amazed that the patriarch had one. Most entitled, concerned about their personal reputation, would have had the records expunged as soon as it was legally possible to do so. Amid a host of ship parking tickets and late fine payments for those tickets, there were thousands, and amid charges of illegal crossing of interstellar borders, which was common for Entitled who travelled a lot, Balem himself had a considerable stack. There was a single charge that called out to Balem’s attention.

 

Place & Type of Offense                                                                 Offendee                         Age at time of

Nixus 35 / Orous                                                                          Balem Abrasax                 12

Kidnapping & unlawful detention of an Entitled

                Balem was awfully confused. He remembered being on Nixus 35 in his childhood, but did not remember any kind of kidnapping at all. He spent his entire childhood there and did not visit Orous until he was 18, because his mother wanted to see him to access his development.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               


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